Tag Archives: hooker

I am not denying it, but I did have to ask for clarification about WHAT I am not giving a shit about. (I may be an asshole, but I am a specific asshole)

Turns out my rude critic was talking about the fact that I have not written a post in 2018, and THAT was why I was uncaring.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

I haven’t written anything BECAUSE I care.

I haven’t seen anything that has gotten my sarcastic muse wet in the panties.

The well has gone dry, I am burnt out, I may never write ag-

I was walking down the street and saw an old dog, laying on a porch, licking his balls, and then it hit me.

We are all here for a reason.

Time to get back on the horse.

So I went to Starbucks and looked for inspiration.

And it turns out that inspiration keeps a tight delivery schedule.

Sitting next to me was the coffee shop version of Job. (To those on you unlettered heathens, its pronounced “Jobe”. Job was the whipping boy of the scriptures. God let the Devil gang beat him like a ginger and he never lost his faith. Thank God it was him and not me, I don’t have that kind of fortitude. I get a papercut and I am questioning my existence.)

The story of Job.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…etc.

Blah, blah, blah, you know the rest, its the opening line from A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens.

Here’s the thing about Dickens.

He was an asshole when it came to life.

Everything being dark and sad and people living in such shitty conditions that the kids in the UNICEF commercials would be willing to take a break from waving the flies out of their mouths for a few minutes and pony up a couple of bucks.

So, if you ever want to ruin your day and shift into a “What’s the use? I may as well kill myself” type of mode, pick up a copy of anything written by Dickens.

Why the hate rant on Dickens?

Because the guy next to me has the saddest story I have ever heard and his name is Oliver. (Started out as Job, then morphed to Oliver. Its a reach, and I acknowledge that, but fuck you, its my blog, I am God here, and it is what we are going with.)

Oliver, it seems, has lost his job. (Pronounced “Job”, if you are a millennial, you are probably wondering what a job is. Ask your parents, if they will still acknowledge you in public.)

And, “Hanna” has left him for someone he knows. (Wife or girlfriend, I am not quite sure. But she is out there, legs in the air, doing shit that career fetish hookers charge high dollars for and its all pro-bono. (Pro-bono isn’t the right word there, but the hooker-bono linguistics are spot-on funny.)

And if that sore on his lip is an indicator, Oliver has a little herpes going on. (Either given to him by or he gave it to, the disloyal skank Hanna.)

Turns out Oliver is wearing those special ortho shoes that has one sole taller than the other, indicating that both of his legs are different lengths. (I almost left this one out, even I have a hard time believing that little detail.)

“But what is your biggest problem right this minute?” I hate getting involved, but someone has to ask the obvious question.

Oliver pondered, went to take a sip of coffee, stopped and shook the empty cup, laughing.

“I’m out of coffee.”

And then he hobbled his unlucky ass up to the counter for a refill and a scone.

Bare with me, because this gets stupid, but I promise there is a reason for this.

I will take you to the Wicked Witch’s castle, but then straight to the Emerald City, Scout’s honor, pinky swear.

I first started the Bittermac blog to build an audience for a really bad novel I had written.

My goal was to suck you in with the blog and then abuse that trust to sell books.

It still is, but its taking longer than I planned.

Anyway, the novel was written during a yearly internet challenge called the National Novel Writing month.

The challenge is to write 50K words, from the beginning of November to the end.

To date, I have won 3 times and have written 3 novels.

And I am trying it again, with a difference.

Previously, I wanted to do fantasy or sci fi. (Side note, I have written a vampire romance. Don’t fuck with me, I WILL make you read it.)

But this year? I am writing a humor book.

Seems to be something that I can do, at least, I like it.

The blog has about a half a million words written, even if they suck, that is a lot.

So, this blog has been pre-written and scheduled.

Like frozen food, its still food, but some of you will bitch that it is not fresh.

Bite me, deal with it.

Think of it as sex with someone you are not into.

Like payback sex or a pity fuck.

Just get thru it and it will be over soon.

The good thing is, you won’t need a shower when its over, but you still might feel dirty.

Moving on.

And its not like this is easy for me, either.

Blogging has its fine moments where you really feel like you have done something beautiful.

And then there are those moments where you feel like a jaded hooker, emotionally detached from the service you are providing that has a somewhat dirty feel to it.

Before you get all Social Justice Warrior on me for belittling the human sex trafficking problem, keep in mind that I am the victim here. (I even shut down the email on the blog site, and you whiny fuckers found my personal email. The bitching never ends with you people.)

Being politically correct has never been one of my strengths.

In fact, one of the worst things you can do is let me know that something bothers you.

At that point, my focus sharpens to just trying to upset you.

I mean, the only reason I ever use the word tard, retard or the phrase half-a-tard is because I got hate mail 2, count em, 2 times, and now I am just doing it to piss them off.

Are you seeing the pattern here?

So, for the rest of November, you will be getting the blog, on time, but a little stale.